The young man stood and looked after Lucy, waiting to wave his hand to her as she turned the corner. She looked very well on horseback. If he had not felt that indignant envy of her, that sense that a trumpery bit of a girl had no right to be so much better off than he, he would have almost admired Lucy as she rode away. She was the representative of so many things that he did admire; wealth, luxurious case, an undeniable superiority to all care. That she should be set up on that pinnacle, high enough to impress the whole world with her greatness, while he, clever, and handsome, and well born, attracted attention from nobody, was one of those things which are so incredible in their inappropriateness as to fill the less fortunate with indignant astonishment; but presently, presently! the young man said to himself. Meantime he was very irregular in giving the little boys their Latin. The proofs took up a great deal of his time, and it was scarcely to be expected that a young author, on the verge of success and fame, could be as particular, in respect to hours, as a nameless pedagogue. Mrs. Russell fully felt the force of this argument. She did not see how Bertie could be expected to give himself up to the children every day. The Latin lessons came down to three times, then twice a week, and it was never quite certain when it might suit Mr. Russell to give them. “They shall have another half hour with me at their music, or, Mary, give them a little more geography; geography is very important, of far more consequence, at their age, than Latin,” the head of the establishment would say; and though the sight of Miss Trevor arriving on her fine horse, with her groom behind her, had a great effect upon the neighborhood, and the parents of the day-scholars were pleased to think that their little boys were at the same school as this fine young lady’s brother, yet after awhile there were remonstrances from these commonplace people. The boys, they complained, did not “get on.” “What do they mean by getting on? we are not bound to furnish intellects to our pupils,” Mrs. Russell said, assuming something of the same imperiousness which answered with Mrs. Stone; but, alas! it did not answer at Hampstead, and but for the hope of that book which was coming out directly, the poor lady would have seen a very dismal prospect before her. But the book was to make amends for everything, it was to bring both money and peace. “There is another boy gone,” said little Jock. “I’m very glad, he was one that laughed when you talked of anything. I told him about Macbeth, and he laughed. He’s gone, that fellow; and Shuckwood’s going--” “They seem all to be going,” said Lucy, alarmed. “Oh, no, you know, there’s me. I’m the sheet-anchor, they say; but what is a sheet-anchor? She is often crying now,” said Jock; “I can’t tell why. It can’t be because of the fellows leaving. They are a set of little--cads.”